Lesson Recap - DQ to Charing Notes

Sentence Phrases - Check in Assesment - You will be tested on your ability to write sentences using your NF notes and your phrases technqiues: Absolute, appositive, participle - Any practice work you do on these tonight CAN be used in class. (G/H - You will do this NEXT MONDAY)

H/W You need to have started your Charing today. You should have one column of research at least.

Was this piece written by a student or a professional writer or a student that might very well be a professional writer?

Moon

I was never able to go to school. Yet Mama would always bring home books. I never had any idea where they were from. She claimed the local private school would donate them to her when they considered the books to be useless. Some of the books I got were ripped or drawn on but that never ever bothered me. What really bothered me, was that people were considering books to be useless. Books are always full of adventures with interesting characters. Books have their own feelings, their own lesson. Yet, they share their power with us. We are not the most powerful beings on the planet; books controll us. Books controll me, but I never was able to experience the power of books until Mama taught me how to read.

“Jake, come I need help.” Mama’s voice echoed out from the other room. I walked away from the smudged window, away from the empty farms and fields. Walking at a good pace I swiftly moved around the crumbling wood table and entered the cramped kitchen. Moon scurred next to my side and grabbed his green, squeaky bone out from under the couch. Edging me to play with him. His paws moving towards the back of my heels, I continued towards the kitchen.

“What do you need help with?” I asked Mama. She looked up from the pot of vegetable soup on the open fire place and asked,

“Will you open the cupboard to get some matches, please?” My first thought: vegetable soup and bread, the meal we had almost every night. I also struggled to see why she could not do it herself but obeyed her request. I reached up for the highest cupboard handle, my hand curling around the metal knob. And I gently pulled outward.

“Mama, the matches are not in here,” my open hand searching in around the almost - empty space.

“Well could you please find them, I am occupied at the moment.” Mama has always seemed so adult - like since Papa passed.

Growing up in upstate New York, I learned that dirt is dirt and gold is gold. There is nothing in between. You're either on the top of the food chain or not. For the normal week, all of the other “rich” kids are in school. There is almost no one out here, only fields and farms. The closest free public school is 2 hours away. Mama says we could never do that trip 5 days a week, and no bus could reach us.

Living out in the middle of nowhere, and as an only child, I needed someone to play with. So, when I turned 10 my parents decided to get me a dog. This was the first present I had ever gotten. I had declared It was the best moment of my existence. His huge, furry paws hit my chest as he raised his head to touch his nose against mine. Almost instantly, I knew what I was going to name him. Moon. His fur was dark like the night, but somehow he seemed to be the light whenever I needed it.  

The memory hit my head like a stone. For only 3 days after I got Moon, Papa died in a terrible motorcycle accident. Since then, it has been hard for me and Mama. I don’t blame him, all the time. We lost our house and our normal life. I quickly learned you can’t have everything you want.

I brushed a tear from the bottom of my eye, and continued searching. I finally decided they were not in the top cabinet and checked the one below. My gaze followed my eye down from the dark brown cabinet to the white one right below it. I opened the door and peered inside, standing on my toes. The matches were barely visible in the back corner of the cabinet. I reached in a grabbed the matches pulling the out from their hiding place. Exposing them to the single light on the kitchen ceiling.

I opened the packet and pulled out a single match, the last one. Its wood, smooth against my fingers with not a single splinter. The tip a bright fluorescent red. Making my way toward the main table I positioned the match to the side of the dirty, flimsy box. Sitting down in a chair I struck the match with quite some force against the box. No sparks. One side of the match was black. I repositioned the match so the ‘still good spot’ was right up to the striking surface. I struck again, nothing. I knew there was only one chance for the match to light or there would be no light for supper. Last strike, one match, one chance. I closed my eyes for a brief second. And struck.

Opening your eyes to a light, no matter how small, always seems to warm you up. I quickly brought the tip of the match to the single candle on our main eating table. The first time I raised the lit match up to the candle there was no reaction. The candle only slightly burnt from the match's heat. I rose the match to the candle again this time leaving it for slightly longer. Still, no fire. Standing up, I tried a third time, watching the fire burn down the stick getting near my fingers. I shoved the match towards the candle and let go. The candle lit and I quickly smothered the match on the table cloth.
Mama came out from the kitchen with the soup in two bowls and the bread on a plate. She set them down and sat across from where I was standing. I sat down as well. She motioned towards the food. I took my bowl and a piece of bread.

I told her that I had thought about Dad again. And how I had been thinking about what had happened since. She seemed rather offended when I mentioned about that I thought we were below everyone else. Moon also started to whimper from his pillow on the floor.

“I have you,  and you have Moon. We have everything we want. Things we want don’t need to be on a table, or stuck to a wall somewhere in this house. We have everything, Jacob”

I do have Mama, and Moon too. Moon started to bark and give me kisses all over my face. Mama laughed. And that made me laugh too. Whenever the stars shine, Moon just seems to shine brighter.

What the social issue in this piece? How do you know?

Unstitched

The light directly above me rapidly flickers on and off. Darkness washes over me, but in a blink of an eye, the brightness returns. I watch as the light struggles to hang on to the last bit of energy it has to illuminate part of the room. Eventually, it’ll go out, drained of anymore fight. I tap my fingers in time with the slow, steady ticking of the wall clock. Time is almost up, and the next period is going to start soon. Where is he? My palms are slick with sweat, and I continue to hastily try to keep the worn out baseball glove from slipping through my grasp. Jer promised he’d be here, and he told me he wanted the mitt. I can practically feel the questioning side glances of the other kids crowding the library, quick peeks from behind books and whispered conversations. I mean, who else stands alone in a library, doing absolutely nothing but stare at a door while fidgeting with a baseball mitt? Jeremy is the only person who willingly talks to me, so there was really no one else to chat with. Glaring at the various leather-bound books lined up neatly on dusty, wooden shelves, I pace back and forth on the carpeted ground, awaiting my best friend, Jeremy Forge, to arrive. Of course he’s late. Jer is never on time for anything. One book catches my eye, the bland, dark gray hue of its cover a stark contrast to the flamboyant colors of the books surrounding it. The title reads “Thirteen Reasons Why”. I vaguely remember my RLA teacher recommending me this book a couple years back, but I never got around to reading it. Apparently, it was about some girl who committed suicide and made recordings of the reasons why she did. I’m assuming the book doesn’t have a happily ever after for any of the characters. I anxiously pick and fiddle with the mit clutched in my hand, accidentally snapping some of the lacings. Unable to hold themselves together, the glove’s fingers fall apart. I’ve tried to repair this glove a million times over, but some things are just beyond fixing. At least it complements the torn leather patches scattered across the whole mit. It used to be my most prized possession back when I was 8 years-old. It used to be my lucky glove. I made the most important catch of my life with it.

A half eaten hotdog carried by an excited fan abruptly appeared right in my face, blocking me from the game. The world series. I still couldn’t believe that Dad got us such good tickets. 14th row. Only 5 above the Indians’ dugout. Cleveland. My home town and possibly the new world champions if all went well tonight. I had my favorite glove positioned in my right hand prepared if anyone hit a foul ball. Jason Kipnis at bat. He gripped his shiny, black bat above his head, ready for the first pitch. “WHOOSH” brisk swing but a miss as his bat barely grazed the top of the white and red baseball that went straight into the catcher's mitt. “Strike!” hollered the umpire, mocking me and my team. “Come on Kipnis,” I whispered into my mit. The next pitch, this one low and fast. No swing. “Strike 2!” NO! We had gotten so close, we had come this far. The next pitch, a loud “THWACK” echoed throughout the stadium as the crowd cheered wildly. The ball rocketed over the left fielder's head and Kipnis flew across the field, he moved swiftly around first base and bolted to second. The outfield struggled to gain possession of the ball but they quickly threw it in making up for lost time. The second baseman made a desperate swipe for Kipnis’ back. His hand hit air. “Safe.” We had just gotten 2 bases. Next batter, Francisco Lindor. Yes! My favorite player, we are going to get a run in for sure. Lindor walked confidently up to the plate. He tapped it twice and brought the bat up over his head, ready. First pitch, too low. Second pitch, too high. The pitcher found his rhythm, and the next two pitches were both solid strikes. “C’mon Lindor we need this, we need to win,” I softly pleaded. The pitcher stood firm on the mound, unfazed. He brought his hands together and lifted his front leg. He went into a big stride and launched the ball towards Lindor with incredible power and deadly precision. I held my breath. Lindor swung. “SMACK!” the ball and bat made contact. The ball soared high. It was an obvious foul ball. But it was close to the field. The first baseman raced over to the stands. The entire crowd rose up, trying to get a good look at the flying baseball. I stood up and raised my mit towards the sky and opened the leather body, hopefully. I clenched my eyes shut. There was a loud noise followed by a powerful, downward force as something struck the web of my mit. I lowered it to my face. The stadium fell silent. I couldn’t believe my eyes! Nothing else mattered. Not even the sound of the third strike. Not even the fact that Lindor was in the dugout. This must be a lucky glove. I had caught the ball.

As I relish in the memory, I absentmindedly run my palm across the smooth, cool surface of a nearby table. A couple of tears well up in my eyes, threatening to spill. How could I let this mitt go? For a slight moment I forget why I’d planned on giving it up in the first place. I squint my eyes, attempting to erase the baseball glove’s obvious flaws if only for a second. My hand reaches the sharp edge of the table, and the wood digs into my skin. The glove’s rips are too big, and all the parts are too detached. Giving it up is my only option. It’s just too destroyed to have any value to me anymore. It’s just some stupid, useless glove that can easily be thrown away and replaced. The bell rings signifying that lunch is over. He didn’t show. I guess Jeremy didn’t care about the glove after all.

Focused and Complex Driving Question

H/W - Turn in your DQ for a grade tomorrow - All classes

Can you name the different ways the Subi developed the theme in this piece?

Final Score

Like glass eyes, my vision was locked to the screen. I scooted forward in my seat and leaned closer to the television as Aaron Rodgers, quarterback for the Green Bay Packers, raced across the field, dodging other players while holding a football. He crossed the goal scoring a touchdown! I was the first to stand up and cheer, my arms flailing around as if I had just scored the winning point for my team.

Well, at least that’s what I wished had happened. Instead, I sat alone on a plastic chair because my parents and brother had taken up all the space on our cracked and stained, dark brown leather three-seater couch. I watched as an army of muscular men dressed in chunky armor of bright colors battled furiously, comprehending nothing. Okay, maybe a bit like I knew the leather 3D rhombus is called a football (I think), but that’s pretty much it. You see ‘football’ isn’t my first language, in fact it’s not my second or third or fourth. Instead of trying to learn how to ‘speak’ football, I was focusing on some more important things. You see when you are someone like me, your priorities are just different.

As I was saying, I sat there on the hard, plastic seat, waiting until I could finally go back up to my room. I could feel my legs getting numb from sitting down so long, which is why I switched it up a bit and placed my right leg over my left. Ah, comfortable again.

But I immediately changed this when I saw how my older brother, Bart, was sitting. I studied the positioning of his legs, how he placed his arms and how much his head was tilted. Why am I doing this you may ask, well who else better to copy that Brawny Bart. You see Bart speaks fluent ‘football’ plus fluent baseball, soccer, hockey and pretty much any sport you can possibly imagine. Surprisingly, Bart doesn’t bother me about knowing how to speak effortless ‘kitchen’, but instead is especially supportive, especially during my Easy Bake Oven phase, or maybe this is just because he likes cookies. On the other hand, my parents, who were sitting on either side of Bart, cannot stand it when I’m in the kitchen instead of out in the scorching sun, throwing some ball around. Which is why I am here watching this football game in the first place. After my careful analysis, I then uncrossed my legs and spread them out, placed my feet flat on the floor, draped one of my scrawny arms over my left leg and leaned forward just enough so that my elbow could rest on my right thigh as my chin rested on my knuckles.

How is this natural at all? I thought to myself as I awkwardly stared blankly into the screen.

My thoughts strayed away from the game, and instead drifted to what I was going to wear the next day- Ripped, baggy jeans beneath a dirty, navy shirt like Bart or my floral button-up shirt paired with navy short-shorts. In other words, sporty guy I want to be or me. Why is it so hard, don’t ask me. I hadn’t yet finalized my outfit before my thoughts turned back to the game.

Stop losing focus! The only way you can be more like Bart is to make sure you do what he does, if you aren’t paying attention how is anyone supposed to believe you? I scolded myself. I glanced at the timer at the top right corner of the screen. Only a few minutes left, thank jesus. The Green Bay whatever were behind by 5 points (I don’t understand football but I can still do math okay) and according to what Bart was muttering to himself, the only way they could still win is by scoring a touchdown (um what even?). But really, 6 points and less than 3 minutes left? No way.

That is where I was completely and utterly wrong.

I guess christmas miracles, I mean just miracles happen because with barely anytime left I watched as the brown pointed cylinder thing shot across the field like a bullet and landed right into the hands of a man dressed in white and green. Feeling as if I made a dent, my feet hit the wooden floor and my hands shoot up. I had stood up just a split-second before the rest of my family and in that time my thoughts seemed like race horses, all competing to think of the worst possible things. Oh god, no. Why has no one else stood up? Am I cheering for the wrong team? No, no, no, I’m so stupid! What are they going to think of me now?

Simultaneously, I heard the commentators recap the sensation that had just taken place. “Jordy Nelson wide receiver for the Green Bay Packers...,” The race horses in my head slow down, “Straight into Aaron Rodger’s hands...,” I can no longer hear the animals. “Scoring a touchdown!” I, no- my whole family scream so loud we could break a window.

Final score: 33-32.

Can you spot the strong use of symbolism in Isabel's piece?

Last winter, the winter I turned twelve, was the winter Brandon came. Ever since then, things were either Before Brandon or After Brandon. Today, twelve months After Brandon, my mother and Sam and I get another evening alone.

Sam and I sit on the sofa, staring at Jennifer, my mother, looping holes with string, creating intricate patterns on the scarf she was knitting. Should I tell her? Does she even realize?

“Jennifer,” I blurted out, shattering the cold silence that had fallen between us, “we gotta tell somebody. We gotta go get help. We can’t let him do this anymore. He’s mistreating us and he’s mistreating you, too, Mother. We gotta get away from him!”

“Don’t you say that about your father, Sophie!” Jennifer scolded, her eyes flashing, abandoning her knitting to rise up to stand above me, “Brandon was kind enough to take you in and he’s the one who pays for your food and your clothes and your home! He’s trying his best! Don’t you dare talk that way about your father ever again, you hear me?” She stormed out of the room.

Sam’s hand shook, tightening his hold on my arm. His lips trembled. A single tear traced down his cheek, then the tears burst forth like water from a dam, spilling on his face, “I’m scared of Brandon, Sophie. He’s big and scary and he says he’s gonna kill us if we tell anyone about him.” His cries filled the room, sobbing in my arms unceasingly. I’m scared, too, Sam. We all are. I held him, silent, rocking him as his tears soaked my shirt.

“Then we go, Sam, “ I whisper, stroking his hair with my hand, feeling his heaves slow into breathing, “We can, like, go take a train and get far, far away from him. And like, we’ll go live in our own house and make sure he’ll never find us. And I’ll bake you your favorite cookies and we can play in the snow...” He’s gonna find out. He gonna find out that we’re running away and then, then… I take his hand, trailing him behind me as we watched the snow melt under the sinking sun through the hole on the door. The snow covers the roofs of the houses, decorating the trees with thick pillows of white. The Christmas tree that I had salvaged from a neighbor's backyard stood, a lonely trunk covered by some shriveled leaves, shaking in the wind, harsh and bitter and cruel. The blue bauble that I found under my chair hands on to the fragile branch for its dear life. My hand pushed against the scratchy surface of the pine wood door, but it doesn’t budge. Instead, the pain of an old bruise flared up like fire, spreading red hot through my body. Ten seconds passed, then twenty. By forty seconds, the sharp pain had finally settled into dull ache. I pull my sleeve further down my arm, covering the red and purple and blue spots, turquoise veins that flowed down through my arms, the bony fingers that stuck out like branches of a fallen tree.

“Guess we can only look from here, then,” I whisper. I’ll stay here, for now, I think, maybe I should just wait.

“Hey, I’ve got a Christmas gift for you,” I say softly, squeezing Sam’s hand. He brightens up instantaneously, his face filled with a warm glow of wonder.

“A-a gift? Show me, sh- show me!” he stammered, unable to hide his excitement. I grab the box that had held my last pair of shoes, holding it out to him precariously with my hands. Sam nearly leaps with anticipation, taking the box with his trembling fingers. Peering into the slit on the box, he screamed with delight. “A caterpillar!”

The tiny caterpillar is curled up in a ball, its yellow dotted back trembling slightly with cold. Sam’s arms wrapped around me. Time seemed to fade away as we held each other, brother and sister, as if we would float away with the wind the moment we let go. The rays of the sun reach through the hole on the door, filling the room with its warmth. I stroke my hand through his hair, glancing out towards the tree basking under the sunlight. The blue bauble fell onto the ground, breaking the blanket of snow that hid the shards of rocks that lay underneath.

“I’m going to tell somebody, Sam. I have to. Trust me.”

    Spring is coming soon.

The Big Q

Today, we learned a different system for collecting our thinking

By end of class Monday - you should have chosen a narrow focus for your research

For E/F - While we got off topic today - if there is one major takeaway - question evidence - validate your sources - seek corroborating evidence from respected authories -  

DRAW YOUR OWN CONCLUSIONS

Student Samples

Summary NF Recap

H/W - Write up a brief summary (100-150 words) of your notes so far using one of the text structures below:

Main idea and details

Causes + Effect

Problem + Solution

Sequencing

Compare and contrast

You might want to use these transitional devices to help you depending on the structure you use:

Enjoy Anika's excellent piece. Can you spot how brilliantly she showed 'power' and also used her sentence tools?

Fair

By Anika Rudra

((Girl’s POV))

“Next!” A voice shouted from inside the room. My heart skipped a beat, because finally, my turn came. I straightened my school uniform skirt. I swung the door to the office open, my ruby hair swaying behind me. “Yes, come in please,” A deep voice boomed. I glanced around the small room. The school’s secretary was seated at his oversized desk, as he squinted at his two monitored computer. “Come, sit here.” The secretary mentioned me to sit without looking up. As I pulled out the chair to sit, it screeched. With the noise, the secretary looked up at me. He wore a confused expression, then inquired, “What’re you doing here, miss?” I rubbed a hand on the back of my neck, red hair curling on my shoulders as I sat down, I cleared my throat. The secretary groaned and twisted his chair to face me, “Your name is..?” “Mila Bonterilli, sir.” The secretary frowned and leaned forward, “Ah yes, Mila. Why are you here now?” I took a deep breath, “I’d like to sign up for the school’s engineering fair.”

The secretary arched his eyebrows, his lamp flickered as if on cue. Wincing, my hands clutching the hem of my skirt. The line of boys waiting to sign up for the competition outside the office leaned into the window eagerly. My heartbeat seemed to echo through the room, the air stood still as if watching the scene unfold. The secretary glared at me, focus unwavering. Anxiousness filled me, my eyes began to burn.‘Stop it, Mila, you can’t show any weakness,’ I chanted to myself. The secretary sighed and said at last, “Alright then...”

He pulled out a sheet from his desk drawer and placed it infront of me, the engineering form! I looked down in disbelief, then back up at the secretary. He had a forced fake smile plastered across his face, I returned an small grin. As I moved my attention to the form, I reached for the pen. Then the secretary bumped the table, as if it was an accident. It wasn’t. The pen rolled off his desk.

“Um,” I laughed awkwardly, “Let me just…” I bent down to pick up the pen. Except it wasn’t there. Frowning, I felt around. Nothing. I searched for a visual of it again. Still nothing. It must’ve rolled under the secretary’s cabinet. Shoot, I grimaced. Sitting back upright, I tugged at my crimson fringe, “Do you happen to have a spare pen that I may use, sir?” The secretary ignored my words. “Uh, excuse me, sir?” I asked again, a bit louder. He turned to me, “What is it, Mila.” That was a statement, an order. “I, ah, need something to fill this with?”

“I already gave you one.” He began to turn his back to me. I frowned, “Sir, it’s lost. I need another one.” The secretary muttered a curse under his breath, “Then go find it. You are wasting my time.” It was my turn to raise an eyebrow, “Sir, it rolled under your cabinet, I cannot reach it, and I don’t want to waste anyone’s time.” The secretary grumbled,“Fine, here,” as he pushed a black capped pen towards me. I picked it up gingerly, as if it was a bomb counting down. Uncapping it, I watched the dark blue globby ink start to spill out of the nib. I sighed, it was gross but it’d have to do for now.

I finished the form in a flash, I had memorised all the information needed by heart. Recapping the pen, I placed it onto the form and pushed the paper to the secretary, “Here.” The secretary flinched when he went through the form. I got up, wondering why that took longer than it should’ve. As I got to the door, I could hear the boys waiting in line outside snickering. I grasped the handle when the secretary spoke again, “I’m sorry, miss, I can’t let you compete.”

I spun around, “What, sir? Why can’t I compete?” A shadow grew across the secretary's face, “Mila, you can’t, now take a seat.” I broke out of my shock, sitting back down. “Sir, can you explain to me why not?” I whispered, eyes stinging. The secretary leaned forward, trying to look genuinely apologetic, “For starters, you are a girl, and the only girl who dared to enter.” I felt my eye twitch, but the secretary went on. “You can’t be part of the fair, we’re going to have a very highly viewed guest judge there.” He explained haughtily, stacking some other forms. “We must not ruin or change this school’s reputation.” That broke me. I shot up, the chair falling back, “Reputation? Then you must let me compete! You said it yourself! I am already the only girl who has dared to enter.” I took a short breath, “Diversity will change your reputation for the better, do you not want that?” The secretary slammed his fist onto the table, “Mila, I will not tolerate this nonsense anymo-”

“Mila!” A recognisable voice called, as my engineering professor entered the room. He shot a smile to the secretary, “Signing up for the engineering competition, I see!” I straightened my back, reaching to pick up the fallen chair, “Yes of course, sir! I’ve been waiting all year.” My tech professor turned to the secretary and his grin grew wider, “With Mila in the competition, our school is sure to receive gold!” The secretary turned bright red in embarrassment, realizing what he had done, and stuttered, “G-gold! Yes, she’ll do, uh, excellent…” My professor picked up my form, “She’s is the top of her class, and has been since the beginning of time.” The secretary turned to stare at me, his jaw visibly dropped. My professor went on, “It’d be a huge mistake if she wasn’t allowed to compete for us.” “Oh, of course,” The secretary replied, a bit too fast, “I was just submitting her form.” The professor smirked and handed him the form. I wore a smug smile as the secretary shoved the paper into the submission box, his face as red as my hair. The professor placed a hand on my shoulder as I proudly strode out of the office. That year, our school won the engineering competition for the first time. Even after so many years, I still have the gold trophy sitting on my workshop desk.

•••

AUTHOR'S NOTE

The story ‘Fair’ is about one girl’s dream and the initiative taken to help her reach her dream. I wanted to convey the issue of gender discrimination, but instead of the story taking place among adults, I wanted it to happen in a community that is familiar to the readers. Gender discrimination is one of the issues that can be found in most societies, and this is a big problem to me. Gender discrimination and stereotypes blocks off women and girls from many opportunities, but also keeps men and boys from simple things such as crying. ‘Fair’ focused on discrimination against girls, since this is the slightly more visible type of discrimination.

I named the story ‘Fair’ because not only is the story about a engineering fair/competition, but because the way the secretary was acting was extremely unfair. Gender discrimination can only be solved by fairness, equality and acceptance along with powerful actions.

I believe that none of the characters were ‘bad guys’. Each character had their own opinion and perspective on the issue, and they did not intend to put down anyone. The secretary seems like the antagonist in the position in he is in during this story, but he had valid reasons on why he acted this way. Yet, the secretary can easily called the antagonist, because he had his priorities in the wrong place and put the school’s reputation over Mila’s feelings and the school’s representation.

With craft and structure, I tried to make more use of silence and lessen how often I use dialogue than I have in previous pieces. I believe I was very successful at doing this. I also attempted to add in more subtle imagery. I used a mix setting description and action to start my piece, and ended it with a ‘future glimpse’, as I like to call it. On symbolism, I kept this piece very literal, but I did slip in one symbol. The pen in story is meant to represent the ability to cause change, or control ‘destiny/fate’. Pens are typically permanent, and the person with the pen can write whatever they choose to. Mila, the main character, receives the pen, but it is taken back from her. She went to the office to sign up for the engineering fair, which gave her the control over her fate. When Mila loses the pen, she loses control over her future. This is what gender discrimination does, majority of the time, giving men power over the women’s decisions. Then the secretary gives her another pen, which she describes as gross because of the ‘dark blue globby ink’ spilling out of the nib. This shows that usually when men do give women the power to make their own (bigger and more effective) decisions, it usually isn’t as good as what the men give themselves.

Feature Article

Lydia - Thanks for popping by today. Take care!

Make a copy of this notebook.  Drop it in the RLA folder.

• www.mindmeister.com
• www.drive.mindmup.com

H/W - complete one page of research using Cornell notes. Due Thur

Scenes: Student Mentor

Enjoy Michael's piece. His author's note is also very impressive. Love the title in this piece!

        Four By Six

Michael Ng

The field was a haven. It’s my home away from home. It was never too hot, there was always shade from trees, yet never too cool. The green turf as far as the eye could see, the bright bleachers underneath the overhang. Being there, I felt like I was the baseball in the pitcher’s hand. Weaving my way past catchers, those that would stop me from flying high.

I clutched the flyer mother received in the mail the day before tightly in my hand. Standing amongst the towers of high schoolers, crowding around the small wooden table, I tried to push my way to the front. No use.

“TWEEEEE!” The sound of the whistle pierced through the air. The chatter died, and was replaced by silence. The only sound was the coach standing up from his chair.

The sun’s rays glared down from the sky. They reflected against the red and white ‘HIGH SCHOOL BASEBALL TRYOUT SIGNUP’ laminated sign, hanging on the front of the table.

“Alraigh’ everyone, get in line,” the baseball coach boomed, his shiny silver whistle at the ready in his hand. People began shuffling about, all pushing to get to the front of the line. Once everyone eventually got into a line, I found myself at the very back.

Ma was bouncing off the wall when she came home that day. She excitedly handed the flyer to me. “High school Baseball Team Tryouts!” she said excitedly. She had always pushed me to go for the impossible. After all, I had only gotten back from my third day of the sixth grade. I stood no chance against these huge monsters of muscle! Sure, I had played baseball since I was little, but against high schoolers, with at least four more years of experience, and muscle? No way. I shook my head and handed the flyer back to Ma.

Quickly, the line began to get shorter and shorter. It only took a few

seconds for each person to fill out their registration form. I heard the quiet buzz around me, and people looking at me out of the corner of their eyes. Though I felt out of place, I stood my ground and didn’t let them make me get out of the line. I was the knight in shining armor, from my favourite stories, unwilling to let the ferocious dragons eat me.

I arrived to school the very next morning. Unpacking my bag, I carefully placed my homework on my desk, and put my lunchbag and water bottle underneath the seat. I took my pencil case out, and put it inside my table. Staring out the window at the beautiful grass fields around the school, I was suddenly filled remorse. I regretted not, at least, trying to apply for the high school varsity. I wanted to go for it, it had been my lifelong dream to become a famous baseball player. I supposed, it was too late now.

I carried my backpack to my locker, but as I was closing the locker door, I noticed the red flyer clamped inside my notebook. The same one that Ma had handed to me the day before. I carefully pulled it out of the notebook, and found the sticky note Ma had put on it. “Hun, I thought you might need this when you got to school. Smiling, I folded the flyer into four and slipped it into my pocket.

I approached the front of the line. The man in front of me whispered, his eyes thin, “Kid. I think you’ve come to the wrong place. This is the varsity team, not the little league.” I shook my head. He shrugged his shoulders then turned back  around. He twirled the pencil in his hand. That’s when I realized- I didn’t have a pencil. I couldn’t apply without one! Panicking, my eyes flew across the entire fields, looking for the bright glare of the sun reflecting off the metal eraser holder on the back of the pencil. Not one. I was too afraid to ask any of the high schoolers to borrow one- they’d probably tell me to get lost. I was three people to the front.

I tapped the boy in front of me. He turned around, with an arched eyebrow. “Yes?”

In a shaky voice, I whispered, “Might you have an extra pencil I could please borrow? I’ll give it right back to y-” Without letting me finish, he pulled a pencil out of a pocket in his shorts and handed it to me. He nodded, then turned back around.

Two people to the front. I began to imagine what it would be like to have made it on the team. I visioned myself on the school newspaper’s headlines: “Justin Mahone- Middle School Superstar makes it to High School Baseball Team” I imagine myself getting an interview from Jimmy Fallon on Saturday Night Live, then making my way to Los Angeles and being on the Ellen Show.

“Oi, kid! Watchu’ doing here?” The coach leaned on his desk and glared at me. His huge figure barely fit on the chair, the table creaked under his weight.

“I-I’m here to r-register for the team,” I stuttered, my heartbeat pounding. The coach rolled his eyes, and sighed.

“Listen, kid. Little league is over there. Not here. I ain’t letting you go for the team.”

I shook my head, smiled, and wrote my name on the registration sheet. Rolling his eyes once again, the coach dismissed me with a wave of his hand.

I took the four inch by six inch crumpled flyer out of my pocket. “Thanks, Mom,” I whispered. It was the ticket to my destiny. It determined where I ended up.  And I had just used it. I was aboard the train to my future. Folding it back into four, I shoved it deep into my pocket and walked back to the concrete mass of my school.

Dear Publisher,

Throughout our lives, we have many opportunities, whether they pop up on television, in the mail, or from your teacher. Some will come and go, oh so quickly, others will linger before vanishing. Sometimes, we just ignore these opportunities, other times, we prevented from reaching the opportunity. Good opportunities aren’t ‘handed’ to you. They are reached for and they are fought for.

“Four by Six” is the last story I expected myself to write. I’m not a ‘sporty’ type of person. I had previously developed my idea from a character in a prison, which turned into a kid in a classroom wanting to write a letter to his grandmother, then this.

In “Four by Six”, the main character, Justin receives a flyer from his mother, about the high school baseball team registration. The flyer is the ‘important item’ that is tracked across the entire story. It followed him from the second the mother gave it to him, into his backpack, and in and out of his pocket.

The title connects to the entire story. The title represents the flyer, as well. The flyer practically symbolized the entire story- how the character decided to go apply for the high school team, when he was only a middle schooler, then going to go on in the future and get better at baseball. Because of this, I decided to have the title represent the most important part of my story- at least that’s what I thought.

The character faces three main problems within this story. First, he didn’t have the flyer. This was resolved when his mother slipped it into his backpack. Second, he didn’t have a pencil. Thankfully, the boy in front of him had an extra one. Finally, the coach didn’t let him apply, at first. This was also tied in with everyone else looking and whispering about his age. This problem was the main conflict and also the social issue portrayed within this story, about ageism. How people discriminate others based on their age, not based on their skills or motivation.

The lead technique that I used was called a ‘leisurely lead.’ It’s called this because I slowly began to introduce the setting, the baseball field, and the character as well. Other craft moves that I had used included symbolism; such as the flyer, as well as the pencil, which represented the creation of an opportunity. It represented how the character strode and grasped the opportunity, and got what he wanted.

In summary, this story truly is about how, only when you strive for your goals will you ever reach them.

Sincerely,

Michael N.

This week is a MEMBEAN  week - Make sure you get your 40mins. End of week - Membean test.

C/D and E/F classes ONLY
Going forward - you need to be reading dystopian books. Start these once you finish your present read. You should read between 4-6 different dystopian novels between now and the end of the year.
You are free to choose a reading partner and read the same novels together.

BY the END of APRIL - You must turn in one more reading response on a book(s) you read - It can be an 'across texts' response if you choose. Use your Reader's notebook notes to collect your thinking about reading.  You will be given 20mins to read in every class to read/write/notetake etc. DO NOT LEAVE THIS TO THE LAST MINUTE

This week, we will begin researching for your PE topics Teen Issues.

RF Summative

Enjoy this excellent piece from Sara. How does yours compare?

Two Piece

The big bright dressing room screaming summer made my heart start to pound.  I looked down at the small chair next to me, but shook my head and pushed myself to just stand. I snatched the crumbled invitation out of my pocket. I un-crumbled the frail paper, and I examined it, my heart beating, my stomach rumbling, and my head spinning. I looked back and forth from the pool party themed invitation to the large mirror right in front of me. I pictured all the girls with the perfect bodies and cute swimsuits. Was my body good enough to go? Do I even come close to meeting their “pretty girl, skinny body” expectations? Maybe. Then, I remembered how the pool party was next week and I could quickly get ready. I chuckled in my head as if there was even a reason I would not go. Then, I peered my head out from the white thin curtain and through the store door. I saw Eden, my best friend, walking towards the store with her starbucks cup. She waves at me, and I wave back looking at myself through the glass door. I quickly turn away and proceed looking through the swimsuits I’ve picked out.

Eden and I have been best friends for a long time. Back when we were two little girls who had no cares in the world other than who got to use the pretty barbie, with the long legs and small waist. The pretty one. We would always steal our mom's makeup and heels from their rooms and put on our nicest dresses. We would go into my bathroom, and look into the  big long mirror, and we would laugh. We smiled, danced, sang, posed like the models we thought we were, and overall, we loved ourselves. One time, back when we were 9, we got all dressed up, hair, makeup, nails, and all. I was wearing one of my oldest dresses, but my favorite. It was a little tight around the waist, size 10, but I still pulled it off.

“You look beautiful,” Eden said, proud for being my friend. I looked in the mirror, and my face lit up, and not because of all that foundation I put on. I really did look beautiful, I really did.

She ran up to me and gave me a hug. Her arms wrapped around me all the way, with even more room. I hugged her back, but my arms did not wrap with space.

“Oh my! Brooke, these bikinis are so cute,” she said jumping up and down examining the swimwear, “I better give you some time to try these on! I will be outside just tell me if you need anything.”

After she left, I grabbed the first swimsuit off of the hanger. It was size XS to fit the physique I have worked so hard for. I easily slipped it onto my body with no problems at all. I glanced in the mirror to see my ribcage popping out from my skin. On top of my disgusting boney shoulders, were the straps of the swimsuit. My eyes moved towards the end of the bikini top to find a complete open layer between the rim of the bikini and my body. The bottoms I tried on kept slipping down as I constantly pull them back up. It was to big.

“Hey Eden,” I call out from the other side of the curtain, “uh, I need a smaller size I think.”

“An extra small is the smallest size they have,” she paused for a short minute, “Oh wait! They have a kids section, I will be right back.”

My head fell deep into my tiny hands and stayed there until she came back with the large selection of kids swimwear. I hadn’t shopped in the children's section of a store since I was 12, 5 years ago. I examined the flower and tribal printed bikinis, and I thought I might as well just give it a try. I grabbed one of the flower bikinis and slid it on. My physique was still small and bony, but the suit fit perfectly. I reached in the back to check the size. Size 10. I looked back into the mirror, and I noticed one of the lights in the dressing room had turned off, making it harder to see. I managed with the other one light to examine my suit. Disappointed in my lack of progress in the last few weeks I rolled my eyes in the mirror. Do I look at my ribs or the unnecessary layer of skin around it? At this point, I don’t even know.

“Hey B, how is it going in there,” I heard from right outside the dressing room.

“Oh, um, ya I think I am going to get this one for now,” I said back hesitantly.

“Let me come in and see,” she says tugging at the curtain. I quickly grap the other end and keep her from opening it, my face red, my heart fast. I push and push harder.

“What’s going on?,” she questions.

“Um, I like, um,” I panicked to think of an excuse, “I have already started changing and took my bikini off.” I looked in the mirror and shook my head at myself through my reflection.

“Oh my gosh! I do not know what I was thinking, I am so so sorry!,” she started, “How about I will go pay.”

I handed her the swimsuit, and she ran to the cashier line. I put on my baggy sweatshirt and long pants  to stop the freezing cold air conditioning the store provides. I started to walk out of the dressing room, but I turned and looked back one more time.  I shake my head unaware of what to think of myself. I quickly exit before any more thoughts of doubt entered my mind.